"...not as vocabulary, not as syntax, not even as structure, but as a principle and a presence." -John Berger

Welcome Friends, Seekers, Artists, Seers, Howlers

Monday, October 29, 2007

Bertrolt Brecht

. . . from the Life of Others

On a certain day in the blue-moon month of September Beneath a young plum tree, quietly I held her there, my quiet, pale beloved In my arms just like a graceful dream. And over us in the beautiful summer sky There was a cloud on which my gaze rested It was very white and so immensely high And when I looked up, it had disappeared.

2Since that day many, many months Have quietly floated down and past. No doubt the plum trees were chopped down And you ask me: what's happened to my love? So I answer you: I can't remember. And still, of course, I know what you mean But I honestly can't recollect her face I just know: there was a time I kissed it.

3And that kiss too I would have long forgotten Had not the cloud been present there That I still know and always will remember It was so white and came from on high. Perhaps those plum trees still bloom And that woman now may have had her seventh child But that cloud blossomed just a few minutes And when I looked up, it had disappeared in the wind.